Native
by Paradigm of Writing
Summary: The two never had a chance to settle, always constantly moving and feeling empty, never learning what love could be, would be, or should be. He lost his way, she had lost him, and they stared emptily at the pieces that made them whole. (Based off of One Republic's Native Album) [1st Overall in LunaticFromTheSun's Virtruso Contest]
1. Chapter 1: Those Stars in the Sky

**Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a new piece of mine I like to call, Light a Candle in the Dark, for a new contest on the prowl, LunaticFromTheSun's Virtruso Contest, based around song fics. For clarity, we can still not write song lyrics in the public domain (you look at the rules, and you'll see it hasn't changed...) so I'm not breaking that rule and including lyrics. Personally, this is a very biased and hard contest because songs can be taken either very literally or extremely subjectively, and that is what I'm afraid this contest could turn into, but nonetheless. I struggled originally with what album I wanted to do, but then I narrowed it to two- Sara Bareilles's Blessed Unrest album or One Republic's Native album, the two albums that I find to be the best on the planet as I love every single song from both, but I have decided to go with One Republic's album, to make a varied range of motion. I've chosen the main characters of Roy and Robin (F), but they won't always be the only characters in the chapter depending on the song. I'm doing at least six songs, so we are starting with #1 in the list: Those Stars in the Sky, based off of Counting Stars. Enjoy!**

* * *

Blurts of bright light disrupt Roy Nadar from sleeping, jolts of perception breaking through his soft cloud of tension, eyes quivering and shaking underneath blankets of insomnia. The redhead jolts in bed, shaking and sitting up with a feverish launch. His head trickles with beads of sweat, opal eyes from contacts wide, heart hammering. He checks the digital analog clock by his bedside. In emerald blocked lines, the time read _2:40 AM_. Damn. He hadn't even been asleep for more than an hour.

He sighs, looking over. Roy blinks hard, once or twice, he loses count of the number of times he does the bodily action, it is automatic, necessary. _Blink_. Why isn't she here? _Blink_. _Blink. Blink. Blink_. Shit. The redhead groans, realizing rather quickly the same fate occurring inside his brain is targeting the wife he so desperately loves. Stupid insomnia. Stupid inner demons. Instead of a soundlessly sleeping white haired maiden that is Robin Nadar, there is a blank space vacated by his legs, no warm breath passing over his shoulder. Perhaps out on the terrace again, more than likely. That's where Robin goes when she tries shutting down her inner suffering.

Roy shifts his legs over the bed, wondering if she came into the bedroom at all, perhaps. His suitcase lies open against the window, which is wide and gaping into their hotel bedroom. Pallid sheets of paper float aimlessly in the gentle breeze, dollar signs and decimal points and percentages running by in his eyes like streams of code that make zero sense beyond flimsy green slips of paper. He groans; groaning seemed to help him in the past few weeks.

The redhead steps to touch the cold hardwood floor of the hotel bedroom, feet tingling at the sensitive touch. Cold, laborious breaths rack his body, the gaping window giving the surrounding vicinity a depressing chill. If you were to be left anytime out there in the December cold of New York City, there was much to be desired, that you'd have negative ten-degree wind gusts blow into your home and screw everything up.

He squints, knowing there's only one reason why the window is open to cause hypothermia. Perhaps she _was_ trying to kill him. Roy laughs quietly, although the laugh is more a snicker and has a darker intent than simple intuition of him dying by the hands of his wife unintentionally. Roy steps out to join her, the dear Robin Nadar in the sky full of stars, where they gaze up and wander aimlessly.

She knows he's there by his footsteps, a simple masculine presence giving off powerful energy. Robin looks at her hands, fingering with something, the bottom half of her lip being bitten by sharp teeth with the intent of drawing blood. "Can't sleep?" she whispers.

"Pretty much. You too?" Roy asks, scooting in closer to his wife.

"You know it." One of them scoffs, though they don't know who did it.

He grips her left hand, squeezing tightly and passionately. "I know today didn't work as well as it should have."

"Your promises are empty." Robin says hoarsely, continuously fingering whatever it is in her hands.

"What are you holding?" Roy prods, nodding at her right hand currently enclosed in a fist.

She opens it and her item is revealed to be a ring. Their engagement ring. Neither one of them wore their wedding rings. They found the item to be out of date, some stupid halcyon band that seemed too comfortable, that two words spoken out like wisps of a fire to the breeze that surrounds them could mean so much. Robin had her wedding ring, kept in a box, currently in a place that could count as her early grave.

He frowns. Roy is wearing his engagement ring too, his wedding ring currently was by his bedside, because sometimes he swore that the ring had a mind of its own and would go on its own little damned adventures. The redhead hates to admit it, he wishes he could be a ring that'd leap from old musty cluttered desks and go to the sewers, be with his own people. _Filthy. Nasty_. _Deserves to die_.

"I keep on thinking perhaps we're in the wrong field..." Robin speaks up, voice rising a level. "That what we're in will destroy us. Perhaps it already is."

Her hands circle the ring slowly, Robin's pinkie smoothly rubbing over the gemstone. Roy had asked what her favorite color was on a dinner date so many years ago it seemed like it belonged in the Roman numeral system. She responded quietly with blue, radiating sapphire and aquamarine waves that resembled the sky so beautifully and sharply. So what he did, as the gentleman Roy used to once be, he bought her a ring. With a gemstone of that exact color. She loved him for it, more than most people would have.

Roy sighs, hugging his wife tight. "I have that thought run inside my head every day sweetheart, there's never a second I'm not thinking of it."

"They didn't deserve it you know. Getting cheated." she shudders, almost dropping the engagement ring.

He looks up, noticing the bright starry sky. "Look, can you somewhat make out Pisces."

Robin follows his gaze, smiling distantly at the constellation of the fish in the sky. It radiated her favorite hue of blue, when a subdued navy crossed with a brilliant turquoise, where light blended superbly with darkness. She fingers the ring. "You know... if we could have a currency of stars, wouldn't that make our lives much easier?"

The redhead grins, as if he almost didn't hear his wife correctly. "Pardon, R? You want hot balls of gas to act as our income?"

"Money never lasts." she shrugs.

"That is true." Roy nods.

Robin shifts closer so their hands intertwine, slender fingers rubbing bones gently, tickling skin with senses only known as comfort. "You're the most beautiful man on the planet." She does not know why she says what she just did. A coping mechanism perhaps, to change the subject.

Bile rises in his throat, and he chokes, close to vomiting over the railing of a hotel in the infamous New York City. He doesn't believe himself when he speaks. "I'm the worst, most horrendous man on the planet."

"Then I'd be the worst woman, wouldn't I?"

"And why's that?"

"Because I'm married to you," she says logically. "Like we say at work, terribleness finds terribleness."

"Thank all things we love that our kids didn't believe that." Roy chuckles.

Her eyes flash. "Didn't think you'd stoop so low." She hates when he mentions their children.

He takes a step back. "Did I already offend you this early in the month?"

Another harmless shrug, but Roy doesn't find it harmless. "I suppose." A quirk at the mouth makes his blood boil.

Roy's eyebrows cross, his temper snaps. "Robin, I stay up every night because of you! That we're so dirty, that we're so vicarious and vicious in the world of money you'll get hurt. Doing wrong feels right, doing right feels wrong! We're young, not old, and I don't have to sit here at twenty-nine to feel terrible because my wife makes me feel that way!"

Robin narrows her eyes. She sniffs into the air disdainfully. "Perhaps," She shows him the ring, before hanging it over the balcony. "I hope you know that you burn hope..." she hesitates. The white haired girl is close to tears at this. "No... you don't. We both do. We're both vile, we both deserve to die. To be separated. Count those damn stars in the sky Roy, it might be all we have left when we run our life through its course."

The ring drops from her grasp, intentionally. He screams, pushing her out of the way as he watches the sapphire engagement ring plummet to its doom fifty stories up above the New York skyline. Had it been his way, the redhead would run from all the stairs in the building, would fly down the steps, and catch it in his hands. Not such the case, as a soft ding lets Roy know that the ring fell into a sewer grate.

Now his dream of becoming a ring to dive into a sewer takes even more fruition.

She steps into the bedroom from the terrace. "I'm going to wear my wedding ring now. Hopefully I don't accidently drop it too."

Roy looks emptily at the skyline, flashing lights and signs blinking together, blurring to one whorish mess of neon and sick sounds of partying, greed, lust, and more vicious things no one knows about. He looks down at his own hand, his engagement ring she gave him, the gemstone a dull diamond, where it shines grey than blue, sits cockishly. He removes it from his pointer finger, examining it with a plastered scowl.

"You disgust me too, ring." He drops it over the terrace as well.

He joins her in bed seconds later, and now the only thing the two can do is stare at the ceiling.

Robin coughs fiercely, clutching her chest. "I still cannot sleep."

"Me either."

"If only we could move our bed out into the terrace, we could count those stars."

"You- you're just full of crazy ideas, aren't you?"

"We wouldn't be in this business if we weren't." she says.

He flips onto his right side to stare at her. Roy brushes a strand of hair out of her face. "You're beautiful. Counting stars in the sky has no comparison. I'd rather count the beautiful things I love about you. Robin, my wife, she shines brighter than any hot headed ball of gas out in space."

She frowns, not taking the compliment. "Darling, you continue to think like that, eventually you'll lose even more sleep. Thinking of something we aren't. Something we weren't. Something we will _never_ be." Robin snarls harshly, before kissing him hard on the mouth.

For Robin and Roy Nadar, their eventful evening in a rundown luxury hotel in New York City, where'd they'd lose sleep over themselves, thinking of how to better each other, dropping rings from high places, taking solemn oaths, counting those damned stars in the sky... it was only the beginning.

* * *

 **There we are guys! That is our first chapter of Light a Candle in the Dark, #1: Those Stars in the Sky. So... what did you guys think? How does Roy and Robin's relationship sound to you? Are they really in love? What job do they have that causes them to be so... self conscious, I could say? Did this reflect the meaning of Counting Stars to you okay? I hope it did. I don't know when I'll have the second chapter up, I'm thinking one or two every week, so there may be another update, but whenever I do, it'll be Chapter #2: Lost in Reality, based on the hit song If I Lose Myself. I cannot wait. Thank you so much for reading and please, oh please review, I'd love to hear from you. Have an amazing day! Love you all!**

 **~ Paradigm**


	2. Chapter 2: Lost in Reality

**Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with Chapter #2 of Native, the same title of the story I suppose has to be named after the album it came from (don't know why I skipped over that rule till now... odd, anyways...) so here we are. Last chapter was an insight to the first little moment of Roy and Robin Nadar's life where they are seemingly stuck in some financial game that makes them not necessarily fully human and their thoughts leap away from themselves on a terrace over looking the night sky. Today's chapter, Lost in Reality, is based off of another song in the Native album, a personal favorite: If I Lose Myself. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

She hugs him tight, face planted in the seeded warmth of his black tweed jacket while he pointe blank fires the pistol. _Bang! Bang! Bang!_ The body falls to the ground with a heavy thud, and seconds later the warm chill of their blood passes over her boots, and now Roy and Robin Nadar stand in the middle of an open grassy field outside of New York with a dead man, a pistol, and a suitcase full of money.

Robin takes the pleasure of knowing at least she isn't the one firing the weapon. She takes absolute disgust in seeing the haunting affect it has on her husband. He shows no signs of remorse anymore when the bullets leave the gun, how the cries for help turn into old symphonies with loud violins played at desolate and destroyed concert halls in Sydney, Australia. The white haired wife takes a moment to excuse herself, needing to stare hard at the road while he cleans up the mess in the back.

"We're no better than those who run from their problems. We lose ourselves day in and day out. If we're not shooting someone, we're stealing from them. And if we're not stealing from them, we're shooting someone. He didn't do anything wrong. He... he just got in the way." she says to herself, although the pitch is raised a decibel or two above normal pitch just so he can hear her and stop what he's doing.

Roy's gloved hands are slick with the crimson stains of blood, a color so vibrantly and dashingly matching the strong lava hue of his hair. She has to blink several times to reassure herself that her husband isn't the dead body looking up at the sky in vain, giving out last breaths. The man holding the dangerous weapon smiles, although it is much more hollow than happy. He wishes the wind blowing through the field could consume him and rot his bones from the inside out, cause his eyes to wither and die. He at least hopes to die the same way all his victims have died, with bullets in their skull. Would be rather... ironic.

"You act as if you hate what we're doing, and then go back on your word because the sympathy doesn't come when you want it to." he remarks, noticing her erroneous behavior.

Robin meets his gaze, lip curled up in a smirk, but she still wants to feel terrible, she desires to be vomiting on the side of the road at the sight of his cruelty. But... she can't. It is virtually impossible. Roy's bitter opal eyes from contacts meet Robin's soft diamond ones.

"I suppose we all walk and talk like living paradoxes then. We lose the old reality we once had and try to formulate new ones. Hypotheses that only work with that current situation because we say it does. It truly won't save us in our time of need, but because we hold on to that faith, one we never let go... it makes sense to say that."

He shrugs, truly lost in whatever weird homeostatic state his wife's mind is in. The red head stopped trying years ago, perhaps even before they knew what an alter was and where it existed. He stopped trying to figure her out years before they were married. Their marriage didn't help his understanding of her at all. Damn those church halls with carpet floors and velvet curtains, and those idiotic choirs that never stopped singing even when they said _I do_ , and damn the stupid ritual where the couple held hands back down that same damned cerulean carpet that she had requested because she loved the color.

Roy places the pistol in the dead man's hand, looking distastefully at the blonde hair that blends in with the dandelions and daises that dot the roadside. Absolute miracle they hadn't been caught yet. He notes the crimson streaks mixing in with the soil, some insects coming out of hiding to find what all the mess is about. A few run and flee, others stay. He bends down to observe this strange phenomenon.

"Hey... R, want to see this?" he asks.

She looks up, curiosity piqued, heart having nothing else to do but beat, her time is spent looking at horizons she'd never be able to run into. Robin joins him, starting to gag and curl her nose up at the smell of the body. "You didn't have to kill him you know."

"You said it yourself." he shoots back.

"What?" Robin defends herself.

"You said he got in the way. Simple as that. No further discussion of the dead man lying in a ditch covered in bright yellow flowers," Roy says, though there is strange humor behind that, as he needs a way to turn everything around and point the finger at the one who is dead, not the one who fired the weapon in the first place. "But I didn't call you over for the rotting corpse. I wanted you to notice his blood. Apparently insects are curious at a dead man's vitality spewing everywhere. Odd."

She wrinkles her nose. "Why... _that's just fabulous,_ " Robin snarks. White hair blows soundlessly in the wind. She pulls him close, giving her husband a hug. "Are you still physically here?"

"Yeah, no need to worry," Roy clears his throat. "I've got the feeling in my feet, the regret surmounting in my soul. I'm very well alive and sensitive."

That had become a daily ritual for the couple. Once the terrible deeds have been committed, and depending on who did what, the other went through safety measures to make sure the other person still lived in proper states of mind. They had to ensure that their frames were not disgruntled, their minds were at ease, and above all, despite the fact their looming illegal activity could literally be sitting five feet away from them, Roy and Robin had to make sure that their atrocities had no bearing on the love making later that night between the sheets.

The white haired girl never watches the killing. She lets the sounds fill in the missing pieces. However, she always has to plan the perfect scenario for the killing later in the day to take place. Today, rather, Robin had gotten up extremely early for her husband, to make sure today's assassination or murder or _whatever_ the hell it was supposed to be went swimmingly well. She'd take the first trip down the elevator, one trip out of twelve. She'd smile nicely at the concierge at the front desk. Slowly, but so expertly because she has been doing this for a very long time... Robin would slip the poison into the concierge's warm tea and then grin so creepily as he coughs then collapses.

Once that would happen, she'd have to race back upstairs, call the preemptive head of business that matters need to be dealt with elsewhere... as we've had a little mess up downstairs and cops and medical officials and those damned journalists will be filling up the hotel lobby basin in five minutes. She requests that the concerned party meets at that quiet café that no one visits because this food is terrible for insanely high prices... you have everything working perfectly. Robin loves the phone calls. _Did you hear..._ or _Are you alright_... Why was everyone so concerned about her? She was fine.

She grins to herself, thinking of this. " _Why, I am doing so peachy I might have committed murder_."

Roy stands, the pool of blood not really being all attractive anymore. He holds out a hand for her to take. "Want to walk back to the hotel?" he offers.

Robin takes his offer like a lady, giving him a kiss on the cheek. He flinches. Their... romantic touch had to be lowered down to a minimal as they never were able to act like a couple in front of their clients, a whole cover story of... _Oh nothing, she's just my super attractive secretary that I happen to have sex with afterwards because we're exhausted from killing all of those whom you love. Oh dear! Did I say that out loud? Don't mind me darling, it's just the heat_.

She kicks a few pebbles from the roadside with her heels. He had wiped down the gun, dusted the vicinity for finger prints, and emptied out three shells. The body hadn't needed a cleaning up- those would discover it soon enough, and they are the poor couple on the side of the road who had their car stolen by the man who ended up dead... they knew what they were doing, perhaps a little bit too much.

The sky dims again, and he sighs, placing a complacent arm over her shoulder, a bit of the hover hand a tad too unnecessary, but the gist is hitting full force. Robin rolls her eyes. "Yes, Roy, you may."

He grins, landing the hand down. "You know, sweetheart, when we threw our little engagement rings off the top roof of that hotel last week, I felt a sense of happiness in my heart. Did you feel the same thing?"

"Maybe," she responds. "I may have had a few grudges left behind in my heart, but nothing to major."

"That's good."

The two are enveloped in silence once again, and she stares at him while he looks full force ahead, perhaps thinking of tomorrow and the new people they'll mess with and eventually when that field will start to crumble and the sirens will chase them from dorm to dorm, just like in college. Robin taps her chin.

"I'm thinking of you."

Roy raises an eyebrow. "Of me?"

"How you fire that gun so easily..."

"Same can be said with you and poison."

"I just watch the initial reaction," she dejects the criticism. "I don't stay behind to view the rest."

"And why is it okay for one and not the other?"

"Rules we'll decide later," Robin looks in the opposite direction, uncomfortable now. "I just want to make sure I don't lose myself. I have everything where I need it, all in you, placed in one basket that I can rely on not breaking."

Roy nods, but he truly doesn't understand this. "I suppose so."

"Aren't we flying out to Dallas tomorrow?"

"First thing when dawn light hits. Why?" he questions.

"I think about the plane crashing and us all dying on it every time we board."

That's the first he's ever heard of this. His eyes soften, his mouth parts, and concern is the main feeling he's emoting at this point. "Honey... what would possibly have you wonder that?"

Robin's response makes his heart solidify. "In case we die, I sit there and cannot believe you're the man I fell in love with. That you're the person I could be dying alongside with. I can never be fully happy with who we are, but as long as I don't lose myself tonight, or any other night, I'm okay with who I lose in the process."

The couple leaves many undesired words between them as they walk back to their hotel.

Behind them, a blood sun sinks beneath the sky.

* * *

 **There we are guys! Damn... I'm feeling rather just whoa right now, as I'm super happy of this chapter that I made despite me not knowing where I'm headed. Have you pieced a few of the thoughts together? I hope so! My Roy and Robin Nadar are becoming my new favorite characters ever and I hope you all can see this too. Next chapter is #3: Broken Faith and Relationships dealing with an amazing song from the Native album, Preacher. It'll get into some religious talk, but I cannot work around it as I have a message from that song to place in this story with how these two characters interact. I hope it'll invoke the same feeling. Thanks for reading and have an amazing day. Love you all!**

 **~ Paradigm**


	3. Chapter 3: Broken Faith and Relationship

**Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a new chapter of Native, #3: Broken Faith and Relationships. This chapter is based off of Preacher from the Native album by One Republic, and based on the song title, this one deals with some religious content that will be established by Roy and Robin in this chapter. This chapter will take place three days later from when they killed the businessman in the field in the chapter earlier. I'm super excited for this chapter and the next one, primarily the next one as it is based off of my favorite song from that album (we only have a five chapter story for this contest this time, no more). Enjoy, Chapter #3: Broken Faith and Relationships.**

* * *

Roy and Robin left New York to head for Dallas. They change hotels. The sheets smelled too familiar with their scent, blood and greediness wafting from the linen markings and comforting pillows. Roy turns away from Robin's gentle hands, locking himself inside a study of sorts, where there is a computer, a candle, and an open window to jump out of if necessary. She falls asleep by herself every night now in this new room, where all she needs is his comforting fingers to calmly flatten her hair, whisper a lullaby or two, and Robin Nadar is fast gone in a world of dreams where joyous noise can be shouted from the highest hilltops.

As she walks around during the day, doing business like normal, she can feel piercing eyes shoot through her back, crippling the spine, fear clutching at her heart. A heavy presence sits on her mind, how she doubts their work, from back in the field, back on the balcony... how Robin Nadar will never get a break from the pain she is currently running away from.

One particular night, she wakes up screaming. Eyes are closed, but there is full-fledged terror in her face. "No! Don't shoot my little boy! Please, God no!" A piercing gunshot breaks the mold of her screeching, where she falls back to the covers of the new bed and cries her eyes out. Roy still hasn't returned to bed; he is not at her side the moment he hears his wife cry out bloody murder. What in God's name... where had he gone?

 _"Perhaps he did very in fact jump out of that study window._ " she thinks darkly to herself.

Robin squeezes her eyes shut, wanting, _willing_ , to go back to sleep. Reset the eye fluttering clock, have R.E.M occur again at light speed. She never feels it. The coldness in the void by her left hip is too pertinent to go unnoticed, and rather Robin is uncomfortable at the notion that her husband isn't coming in, there is no thundering of footsteps, no yells of her name being echoed spaciously throughout the halls.

It is as if he doesn't care to even check on her anymore. The white haired girl snorts. Such was the issue at the moment. She sits up, throwing off the blankets that adorn her body. A hand is thrown through tousled hair, all Robin can do is check the surroundings, seeing them empty and vacant. Looks as if a search party needed to be organized. A groan shifts her out of bed, where feet land lightly from hours in ballet on carpeted floor, where scuffs of rough cotton prick her toes, droplets of ruby blood trailing her in a diverted wake.

Robin peers into the study. Closed window. Curtains stilled. Candle is extinguished. No lava haired male sleeping on the linoleum floor. What in the hell? Had Roy just come in the hotel to vanish off the face of the Earth? She stomps her foot childishly. Being stumped never was her favorite activity, swindling took that by the horns. It meant the excursion had to be expanded beyond the comforting of their room. To search the expanse of the darkness out in the hallway, down the stairs, perhaps to the lobby and into town, of some hick town she has never bothered learning the name of because it is so insignificant. She hates having to be the bigger person.

Navy coats line the wall, again reminiscent of her favorite color. Robin picks the one closest to the mirror, where she gets a good gaze at herself. Curved figure, plumb breasts, shining eyes, this time a dark heather blue from contacts. She had a man infatuated with her. What more could be asked for? Nothing.

"To think I married such a fool." she rolls her eyes, unlatching the door to the room, tiptoeing quietly out onto the wooden floor of the hotel.

She blinks. Having been in such a rush, in such a damn hurry to run inside the room and meet the comforting grip of her husband's hands, she's never bothered to check the rest of her home for the next two and a half weeks. Immediately across the hall is a chapel. Oak doors lay open like a fatherly embrace, glowing amber fires in fireplaces and torches alongside the walls shine. She eyes several stone cut pews, a wooden cross placed all the way at the front. And there he is. Sitting in the front pew, bent over like a damn idiot. Praying. Or whatever.

Her steps cause her to glide down the center aisle, and she prepares everything, all of the nasty remarks, the bitter scolding, why she can make out his face of sheer shock as she'll slap him and kiss him roughly causing the sanctioned house of God to shatter and shutter. Robin reaches Roy, seeing that his heart seems so collapsed all of her anger evaporates, but she has to let it known.

"How long have you been here?" Robin asks, unmoving, eyes solid, looking precariously at the cross.

"Long enough for you to fall asleep." he whispers, rubbing his eyes.

"Doing what?"

"What do you think? Praying, stupid." Roy snorts.

She lets the insult slide off of her. Robin had heard far worse when working with clients, those who'd shout and scream all their bitterness in plagued warped fire, where each lash hurt more than the last. She's tired of all of the predicaments, all the lies, all the hazy moments that someone would glue together to form their marriage, to form that so broken relationship even safety glue won't fix it perfectly.

"Ro-" she bites her tongue, almost saying his name. Not here, at least. "I- I uh, had a nightmare. Of the kids when we were little. How they screamed and kicked us that morning, when we both returned, they had been held at gunpoint..." Her voice dies, and Robin lets the tears fall.

"You should sit." Roy offers gently.

He looks up, staring at the amaranthine stained glass, but Roy decides, he _chooses_ , to not look at her. He'll collapse too. It's why he came, why he went to the chapel in the first place. For mending, for fixation. She'd have him fall apart too.

"I don't want to sit," his wife rasps. "In fact, _I_ want you out of here and in bed with me, like it is supposed to be!"

"Being impatient will bring you nothing but disappointment." Roy snarls.

"That's all you are to me these days." Robin hisses.

They take a step back. Did they just tell each other off like that in a holy place? Had the white haired woman lost her mind so much that she couldn't see her words weren't helping, his arguing back didn't mend the situation, only plunged it off a deep abyss, into a dark lurking cave where it died and never saw the light of day. She realizes this, wiping the salty tears from powdered cheeks, and she promptly walks around him and sits down, head rocking back, eyes glazing.

"Told you." he says, a quirk of a smile hitting his lips.

"Why are you even here?" she asks. Their religious life died years ago, in the shooting, when their two children met an unfortunate end... how they didn't have a savior out in the light sky to help them.

"My own personal demons. Trying to deal with them." Roy explains hollowly, finding a scratch in the pew to dig his dirty nails into.

"Aren't we our own personal demons?" Robin frowns. Least she had the gall to admit that.

"If you want to say that." he shrugs.

"I haven't been here since- since the incident." she admits.

"A particular chapel you have in mind, R, or are you being pretentious?"

"Screw off."

"Save that for the bedroom, sweetheart."

"I'm still confused why you wandered in here, at least without telling me." Robin frowns.

"I didn't want to tell you." Roy feels awful saying this.

"Why?"

"You'd be mad at me," his voice wavers, and he puts a face, one that is soiled, tears streaked, burnt, bloodied, and evil into rough hands, one of vile works. "Everyone would be mad at me, had the truth slipped. You know... when we were just starting out, I assumed one day we'd be buying and selling gravity, we'd become so powerful, that's how we'd learn. By that point, I had my dreams crushed."

"By your father." Robin finishes for him.

The red head blanches. "Yes. Told me that I'd be looked at wrong, by pairs of eyes I couldn't see. His sultry ass deserved that death of mouth cancer from all the cigars he smoked, but he's not wrong. You feel it too; I can sense it in the way your skin bristles. We've been watched for wrong deeds, and there's nothing we can do to fix it."

That had been Roy's father. A crusty old man who preached from a pulpit, screamed in God's name that his child would meet the fiery furnace of Hell within a matter of years… mercy would not come to the marriage of Roy and Robin Nadar. Roy still gets a bitter taste in his mouth when thinking of him.

"By stopping our work?" she suggests weakly, at Roy's last sentence.

"Not possible." Roy makes a grim face.

"We're made of money. Your father was made of craziness."

"He had been a preacher for thirty years, Robin." he reminds her.

The two sit in an inebriated quiet, where they listen to the pops and cackles of the fires, where Roy gets bored so he roams her hair and applies soft kisses, her hands roaming his chest. They kiss out heavily on that pew, under God's watching eyes, where their hearts roam free over their desires, and Roy rants to Robin, he screams his frustrations, his fury, those that anger him and where he wishes to rip them apart with bare hands.

She nods, she listens, and soon sleepiness consumes her once again. Dreams hit her, like they did back in the bedroom, where now she imagines her husband's father standing at a podium, dressed in black mourning robes, this time crying and bent over the podium, because below, there are two graves with her and Roy's name engraved on solid slate backs. She's dead in this dream, no sweet fairytale. Damn that old sultry man.

Roy smiles to himself as he watches Robin begin to doze off, soft eyes closing shut, hands falling to her side, now exposing that too cruel hickey painting her skin. He picks her up in the night gown, walking down the center of the aisle. The scene is harmonic, and he glances back at the cross, this time making a wider smile. Roy's grip on Robin never faults, but he makes a promise to the lonely wooden structure.

"I, one day, will fulfill my promise. You'll see the change. She'll be the cause behind it."

He finishes this little secret, kissing Robin gently atop her head. He hops lightly on the carpet floor that separates their room from the chapel and closes the door. Perhaps, thanks to that sultry old man that acted as his father, their business would come to a close before they had been told so. He had already lost a child due to his actions. Roy couldn't bear losing his wife. He couldn't bear it. It'd hurt worse than anything. That... that was the truth.

* * *

 **That's it guys, there we are! Damn, I love writing Roy and Robin in this story, and I've said this millions of times but it is the truth you guys, it's becoming one of my favorites. So that was Chapter #3: Broken Faith and Relationships, based off of Preacher from the Native album. Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow, we have another chapter update, #4: Long Open Roads, of Despair based off of my favorite song of the album, Can't Stop. I'm hoping to pull off all the stops possible with the chapter tomorrow, so thank you so much for reading, please leave a review, and let's get down to business again soon, shall we? Have an amazing day! Love you all! Bye!**

 **~ Paradigm**


	4. Chapter 4: Long Open Roads of Despair

**Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a new chapter of Native, #4: Long Open Roads of Despair. Last chapter, we had Robin lose her mind a little bit and see Roy be a little too dark in his own mind when dealing with money and all of that by going to the chapel right across from their hotel room to pray. This super quick update is awesome, which I'm super happy about, and I cannot wait to make this chapter as our little one today is based off of my favorite song of all time, and clearly my favorite song from the Native album, Can't Stop. Seriously, go listen to this song. Makes me cry every time. Enjoy the chapter today!**

* * *

Heat blasts the lovely couple in the face as the car zooms down the long open road stretching from Dallas, Texas to Phoenix, Arizona. Neither of them are wearing their seatbelt, wanting to be daring and not caring truly if they're launched through the windshield by a sudden crash. Least they died together. He is blasting the radio, trying to focus on anyone but the white haired gal in the passenger side. She's counting money, ticks of fingernails against the soft emerald paper, grinning at Benjamins and Jacksons.

"We've made a killing off of this last one, sweetie." she says, filing the money back into the envelope.

"Yeah, we sure did, didn't we?" he grins, but his mind is reeling back from two nights ago, with that stupid promise at that damned cross.

How it haunts him wherever he steps, how his feet leap the ground and never come down because the asphalt opens up into a fiery furnace that Roy chooses to not be engulfed by. His right hand drifts over to grip Robin's, the sudden touch frightening her, the money almost going out the window into barred desert soil.

The redhead's insomnia has gotten worse over the last week. He never gets too sleep on time, taking the time to stare at a pallid blank computer screen in hopes of finding harmony in the clattering of keyboard keys and the clicking of a mouse. Where Robin fails at helping him, his insanity succeeds. His mind drifts while he stares at etched ceilings, making lines and shapes and stories out of the images he sees. Roy laughs with mirth to himself quietly at a dinner table, when dealing with salt, but rubs it in his wounds later that evening to make the pain unbearable, for screams to leech from his lips.

She cannot seem to shake the thoughts of her children. Dead bodies on a tiled floor. Crimson rivers coating her hands, her shawl coat, her hair, her heart. How she yells, how the anguish and pain rips every fiber from her soul and leaves Robin Nadar as an empty carcass. A gunshot, her children's terrified yells, the falling of multiple bodies to the floor. Her guttural bellow, how both her and Roy leap for their shooter, taking him down.

A knife. A cut in the face, several fingers taken off. All the while Roy shakes the killer of their two kids, how could he? A family friend... a family _member_ doing such a travesty. Robin screams in her head, screams outside. She coddles the dead children in her arms, hands smothering faces, fingers plaiting faces, tears streaming down frozen white cheeks that are immaculate in death.

How he remembers that moment too, as the two share a thought in the car on the way to Phoenix. Why his heart hurts so much, how he cannot lose her. Robin is all he has left. Screw the onyx briefcases, the childish mind games played with clients, the wooden walls of log cabins, the tiled floors of hotel bathrooms, the wind in his hair, the flapping sounds of packets of cash... if she vanishes, he vanishes too.

 _The world can be torn and dying tomorrow_ , he'll write in his journal on some free time, _but I'll never stop thinking about my wife. Her smile, her playful hands, her compassion, all of her bitterness. Robin's snowstorm hair, her diamond eyes... she's timeless to me. I will always love her. Can't stop thinking about you. Can't stop loving you. Can't stop. Can't stop. Never will_.

Robin sometimes writes her feelings into songs, when she'll have alone time on the balconies of high rise buildings where she could casually slip her feet and then plummet down to the concrete and die. Every day thoughts in her brain. Her lyrics reflect a parallel universe she wishes to live in, where her entire family could be alive, dressed in navy clothes, leaping in the flower fields, daisies tickling their feet, honey scents in their noses. She contemplates her husband's role in the business, where she can cut the rope. She can never stop thinking about Roy, but for all the wrong reasons.

He kisses her on the temple, leaning over and nearly taking the car off the road. She squeals, kissing him back on the lips. The redhead shifts his vision back to the road, casually skirting the tires around a squirrel, then resumes the intimate affection. Her hands roam his chest gently, pushing back with a tender playfulness that elicits a giggle from him. He tickles her neck, cupping her jaw, taking her scent in. She's gorgeous. He's lustful.

But Roy withdraws as soon as he touches her. He frowns, hands gripping the wheel again. Mechanically. Without feeling. She is frowning too, perhaps threatening to cry for all the pain remounted back up.

"Why- why you'd stop?" she whines.

"It's not right to feel that way about you," he says breathlessly, actions shocking him and hurting worse than his words ever could. "Darkening. Sinful. Vile."

She practically scoots over so she's sitting in his lap. "I'm _your_ wife. Meant to be loved that way. We said it together during our oath."

"I'm not _loving_ you," Roy explains further, speeding up on the gas. "What I feel in my heart is lust. I wanted to stop this car and force you on your backside for rough sexual intercourse. When it's desire and not truth that causes me to feel that way... darling, it isn't love."

"You're over thinking things again, aren't you?" Robin chides.

"None of the sort. And stop accusing me of that. I rather like acting scholarly."

"I find it to be a drag." she huffs, twirling a strand of hair around a perfectly manicured hand.

"Do I look as if I give a shit?" he hisses back at her suddenly, slamming on the brakes.

The two glare at each other. She throws her withered coat in his face, the same grey blood stained shawl she had been wearing on that dreadful day when the fantasy couple lost their children, lost all that made them... _them_. He recoils, then screams at the article of clothing. Roy looks down at his hands, staring in fear as he hallucinates. Violet splotches erupt over his arms and even Robin almost helps him as he loses his _mind_ over the blood.

He is trying to get his seatbelt unlatched, freaking out on why the hell it isn't letting him go. Roy has no idea that both of them had gone on their trip without wearing their seatbelt, stuck on an expanse of open road with sky blue horizons, fluffy marshmallow clouds, and beauty of fauna and flora dotting the landscape. He wrenches the door open, collapsing to the asphalt of the road.

The defeated man stares at the halcyon paint lines, the jagged whites and pitch black midnight backdrop that reflects his heart, his inner side of himself that is shown to all. Robin gets out of the car, crouching by him. She doesn't say anything, but instead just presses her head on his shoulder while he cries. The inner pain is let go in bellowing screams and torturous heaves while he lets the tears fall and sizzle up in the burning sun.

Somewhere along the road, she starts crying too. How the past two weeks have meant so much to them when all they're doing is hurting each other. Agony needs to stop right away, they'll never get anywhere if they go one step forwards and two steps backwards, they'll constantly be stuck in that position of negative numbers and expressions. The crimson numbers of the stock market resembled blood lines in their head as the couple cries over the road leading to Phoenix.

"When did we ever mess up?" Robin finally asks him when the tears slowly stop to be so hurting.

"When we lost them." he replies.

"I think we were way worse than that, before then." she concludes.

"Yeah?" Roy snarks.

"It happened once we met, rather." his wife nods her head solemnly, digging her chin into her sternum, trying to avoid eye contact.

He stirs, shifting his body to gaze at her, the two now sitting cross legged in the middle of the highway. The two could die right here and now if they wanted to by some drunk old trucker smoking a five-inch cigar, bellowing out to an old country legend or something. _SPLAT!_ The two bodies will go, flattened with pieces of skin flaying out to the dirt and dust of the desert, violet pools of blood mixing in with the asphalt. Roy wouldn't care. Robin wouldn't either.

"We should try for another child." he suggests weakly.

"Would you want to go through that again?" she questions.

"Personally, we're alone in this world R, and that's never going to change. It'd be nice to have some company, no?"

"You aren't going to go through with it, I know. There were so many complications with the last baby... and-" Robin stops, biting down on her lip hard, drawing blood. She cannot talk about the past like such, as if it was a fairytale. Her birthing of the last child, the one to be first killed... worst experience of her life prior to losing her beloved darlings. The white haired lady makes a grim smile. "I am not willing to do that. Besides, you don't want to lose me. That's a possible way of losing me."

Roy holds an insult back, wanting to call her a coward. But he nods. "Fine."

They stare at each other again, lost for words, what to even do.

Suddenly, Robin tenses. "Darling..."

He frowns. "What?"

Through the hazy summer heat, she squints and can see the speeding car bearing down upon them, no intention of slowing down. Person can be seen looking down at their damn phone, stupid son of a- what an idiot. The wife makes a split decision, letting loose a scream, before vaulting at her husband, hands pushing him back. He is flying through the air, onto hard solid rock, screaming out in confusion.

His heart skips a beat when the speeding car slams into Robin dead on, his lover flying through the air, slamming into their windshield, cracking the glass. Blood tinted glass hits the road. Blood- blood tinted glass. Her blood. His wife's blood. Robin's river of life. Roy's heart spins. Then the consuming screams release.

* * *

 **Well guys, that was Chapter 4, Long Open Roads of Despair. I didn't know exactly how I wanted to end this, but I wanted to show you all that Roy and Robin truly do love each other in a backwards sort of way. For a note, Robin just got hit by a speeding car, when moments earlier they were okay to get hit. She could sense the car would come before Roy could react so she pushed him out of the way. She's gotta care for him, right? Also, what Robin did when Roy started crying in the middle of the road is exactly what my male best friend does whenever I've had my moments of distress and pure pain, and even though he can be silent, him being there means beyond the world, and I couldn't ask for another guy to know so well. Just a little tidbit I thought I'd throw out there, to draw some parallels. So... we have one more chapter left, one more piece of the puzzle to be together with this broken duo, and we'll so happen see what we can get out of this messed up couple. I'll see you all soon for Chapter #5: Water and Cardboard Boxes. I love you all so much! Thanks for reading! Have an amazing day! Bye!**

 **~ Paradigm**


	5. Chapter 5: Water and Cardboard Boxes

**Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a new and the final chapter of Native, #5: Water and Cardboard Boxes. Last chapter, we had #4: Long Open Roads, based on the song Can't Stop from the album, and this time, this chapter is based off one of the most atmospheric, beautiful pieces everywhere, Au Revoir by One Republic from the Native album. I wouldn't want to end this story off with any other song, as it means "Goodbye" in French, how perfect for these two characters. A simple, goodbye. I hope you enjoy the chapter. Thanks for being there the whole way with me, Flame Falcon, Cheesy One, and eclipse's end. Love you three, and hope this chapter wraps everything I possibly can open up.**

* * *

He stands over her in the pallid hospital room, smells of IV stalks and latex gloves invading his nostrils to a stench of incomparable heights. A low, dull, innocuous heartbeat dolls and dolls over and over again in his chest, while he pains at the soft sleeping of his wife in the bed. Thin sheets cling to her skin, drips of crimson dried blood stuck to her nose. She is so peaceful, pallid hair combed behind the ears, eyes shut gently while the chest rises and sinks with easy breaths.

Roy Nadar cannot stop the crying. Crystalline tears stream his cheeks, staining the bedspread. He sobs over her, hearing the light _beep_ meaning her heart is steady fast. He doesn't dare lift up the sheet, to see the bruises, the shattered femur... he cannot resort to watching such inhumane pain take him back to memories long ago. The redhead refuses food, refuses water, denies to see the preacher, he wants to be alone with Robin. How he spends so much of his life trying to protect the ones he loves, to then get shot in the back, because life doesn't want him to be happy at all. He cannot deal with hurt like that.

Time ticks by slowly. Five minutes' meld into an hour, an hour into four, four hours into a day. A day into three days. On the third day, where he is ready to leave, go and find that damn ring he left in that New York sewer, she opens her eyes. Radiant diamond orbs stare back at the hollow ghost of the husband she used to love. Where once she denied the truth, she sits up weakly, anesthesia helping immensely. Robin groans, breaking him out of his glazed state.

He rushes to the bedframe, careful to not shake the bed and give her more harm than what that damn idiotic driver had already caused. The two have their eyes meet, and there's a genuine smile from her. Roy Nadar, her _husband_ , is the first face she sees, as it should be. She would not have woken if there was to be cerulean surgical masks looming over her during sleep. Damn doctors with their callings of death. Then there is the breaking of laughter from the male and the fragmented picture shattered by a hundred mph speeding vehicle broke is mended back together with one expression; joy.

Roy frowns though, knowing he can never fully give off true happiness anymore. That seed died deep in his stomach years ago, when he had two children running around. Not anymore. Not the same thing twice.

"You're awake." he whispers.

She nods. A simple nod. Nothing too extreme. "Yes, I am."

"I never left your side. Always stayed in this room. Didn't have it in me to leave." the redhead scratches the back of his neck. Well, he was lying to her. He had only left the room once, for a single occasion that mattered more than their consummating love. Something that started with a B, and ended with 'room'.

Robin cannot feel the lower part of her left leg, and she's afraid to see what has now replaced it, but it can't be anything too serious. Before she had gotten into that ambulance, he had grabbed her hand. Yelling, she'd be alright. His words echo in her head again at this notion. She's not alright. "I know," she snorts. "You snore loudly when you're worried."

He blushes. "I- I got something for you." There's a tint of remorse in the back of his words, like slow sliding toxins from a hypothermic needle.

"Did you now?" A raise of an eyebrow, the familiar quip of a smile.

"Yeah. I think you'll appreciate it more than I will." Roy says. He turns to the seat behind him and lugs over a cardboard box. Her heart skips a beat, and the sounds of the loud crash reenter her ears at the sight. Stinging, onyx letters, like the blank stares of her dead children, in marker, are the words _Children's Memories._

"I thought you burned the box like I asked you to, _Roy_." she hisses. Not a great first response.

He locks his jaw. "No, I didn't. We couldn't forget them, could we?"

Robin replays the whole afternoon in her head, while her husband tries to explain the methods behind his madness. March 16th, 2007. Nine years ago, to the date. The Nadar's. A family of four. Loving husband. Loving wife. Two great children, with names she's long forgotten as they've been pushed back into the burning core of her mind, never to be heard from again. Before being involved in the tax evasion, the fraud, the murder... they owned a simple watch store on the corner of their town. Had a family worker, an uncle. Gentle smiles, loving handshakes.

Roy pisses off the uncle the night before, throws away some type of white pill medication down the drain. Fights, the calling of the police. Red and blue sirens and lights that blare and burn together. The next day, they let the kids skip school. Go down to the pier, let them see the lake. Get ice cream. She buys a book for her daughter, where there is a delicate pink rose plastered on the cover, some stupid girly novel she knows her daughter will never read, but it is nice to have the token. He's waiting for them there at the house, the deranged uncle. A pistol clutched in gloved hands, tears and sweat and anger. He screams out a threat. Their son, bless his heart, aged at only eight, leaps forward. One bullet hits his arm; another finds his throat. Down he goes.

The couple watches their dreams shatter as the uncle takes aim again. Hits their daughter. She goes down, murky cardinal rivers splattering across the cover of that new damned book. It is placed in the same box on her medical bed. In the box, in _the box. What the hell is Roy thinking?_ The two had lunged at the uncle. Killed him. Shot him dead, cut him up… such unspeakable actions/ Robin holds her deceased girl in mangled arms, getting brick smears over a grey shawl sweater, Roy is screaming, he's screaming so loud the cobblestones outside shake.

Nine years later. The anniversary of their deaths. What a wonderful world to wake up to.

"I know your full intentions, Roy. I don't like them." she spews forth criticism, strong vocal cords cracking at the last syllable. Robin places her hands in her face, and she holds back the tears.

"R-"

"That's why we did what we did! You know it! How could you forget," Robin yells, demanding an answer. She lowers her hands, glaring, glowering at him. He feels fear. He smells it on her skin. "The world took our children away from us so we decided to take the children away from the world! From the get go. Sabotaging all that people cared about in their wallets, to destroy those precious dreams! You go and remind of our faults by doing this? Get the box out of my sight!" She kicks it with all of her might, using the right leg.

The box goes flying off the bed, slamming into the wall, contents spilling to the floor. Roy does not move. He's used to this by now. He clears his throat.

"I- I got us a home."

"Wonderful." she snarks, looking at the etchings in the wall.

"In Oregon."

"How quaint."

"We can get out of here and never come back, R. We can forget our children, we can forget the dollar signs and the dead bodies. Leave it all behind, leave it in a hole buried five yards deep out in the Pacific Ocean. Once you get better, we leave." Roy pleads.

"How can we be assured our safety?"

"We can't."

"Then I don't want to go." Robin sticks her nose up in the air, sniffing.

Instead of crying, she replays her daughter's pained cries over and over again in her head. Broken record player. Stop. Repeat. Start. Stop. Repeat. Gun shot. Wail. Repeat. Stop. Start. Gun shot. Wail. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. _Repeat. Repea-_

Break.

Robin sobs. Hard. She brings the sheets up to her face and screams into them. Pain flashes up in her leg and she yells in hell's fury at the damned walls, at her damned husband who is crying too. "I'm sorry!" Roy argues back. They do not hear each other, the hurting rising up to unbelievable levels. Where were the staff? Why had no one run into their aid? Were they even in a hospital, or some psychiatric ward for the mentally insane?

They cry. All they can do is cry. He has moved over to her side, clutching a hand while sobbing into her neck. She murmurs evil thoughts, rubbing the base of his neck.

While they cry, Robin imagines the blue bone beach expanse of a sky overlooking an ocean. She can hear the roll of the waves, the crashing of the water.

* * *

Wind howls behind their ears. She is staring at the beach she imagined back at the hospital. Cresting white blue waves, cries of seagulls. Tickling of sand granules, the rough bumps of seashells. It is March 16th, 2019. He locks a hand with hers, gripping an inseparable bond. Robin looks at Roy, Roy looks at Robin, and the two nod.

They've never been here before. She's always refused to come here; he's always accepted her wishes. A single rose is gripped harshly in her hand, smooth hands and fingers crushing a fragile stem. The wife leans down by the gray tombstone overlooking the ocean, her dream, her imagination led them here... to their children's graves. The names are etched out. They had personally requested it at the funerals. Robin places the rose down. She turns away immediately, biting back tears.

Roy watches her go. He is quiet. He leans down by the tombstone, licking his lips. "Sorry about mommy, guys. She's- she's... being difficult. I love you both. I'll always be thinking of you."

He turns around too, walking back slowly. He meets up with her as Robin is moving down the sandy, windy path from the cemetery at a snail's pace, slowly and dragging. His solid legs match her prosthetic ones, and he is hugging and kissing her against the hood of the car soon after.

Deep in his mind, something causes him to smile as he and Robin lock lips. Roy's promise to that wooden cross back at the chapel. Three years ago, on the Dallas trip. He kept his promise. They abandoned the lifestyle. They returned. They were... They were themselves again. One word.

Native.

* * *

 **There we are guys! The final chapter of Native, #5: Water and Cardboard Boxes. I am so happy to be done with this story and I can truly say, Roy and Robin Nadar have become my two most favorite characters ever, and I'm surprised I got attached to them through a contest piece, as even though I put in my greatest work I try to put out, it is different when I'm in love with the fiction I write. I must say thank you, a big thank you to LunaticFromTheSun for hosting this Virtruso contest, and how it is evoked a new writer in me. Good luck to all my fellow competitors out there wherever you may be, and good luck in your writing ventures. Thanks to my reviewers, you let me know what worked and what didn't. I cannot thank anyone enough. Have a beautiful day. I love you all. Bye!**

 **~ Paradigm**


End file.
